


From You to Me

by jiico, Roriette



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Childhood Friends, Drama & Romance, F/M, Humor, M/M, Marriage, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiico/pseuds/jiico, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roriette/pseuds/Roriette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they met was when Hide found him in his treehouse and pointed his finger at him like the detective from a cartoon crime show - "So you're the trespasser!"</p><p>That was almost twenty years ago. </p><p>And now...Hide looks really good in a black-tie tux. <i>(really good)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Congratulations

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very special collab with the A+ bab **[Jicasso](http://jiigya.tumblr.com/)**. And also dedicate this chapter to **[Karin](http://falsehero.tumblr.com/)** because she wanted a married life AU. *smooch* This story is written by me, in Kaneki's pov. But Jii will be writing a parallel in Hide's pov (which will be uploaded in a couple days!) ~ Enjoy ❤

* * *

 

_April 1, 20xx_

_Age: 25_

**[ From You to Me ]**

C h a p – I –

_Congratulations_

 

A pianist sits down on the soft leather seat, points his dress shoes on one of the three golden pedals, and leans forward, nimble fingers splayed along the black and white keys, reaching.

 

Palms rise and the curves of fingertips poised as if to set sail across a sea of melodies, the world behind him hushed and waiting, waves of anticipation lulled and licked around the boat like the calm before the storm. Pairs of eyes and ears open in rapt attention, judging, scrutinizing, and criticizing - they’ve seen better, or at least their privileges give the right to think so.

 

The pianist thinks of nothing. Believes in nothing, casts aside his doubts, and dances as if he owns the universe and its infinite blank spaces. To play the song is his only priority – his very air. Nothing else matters, and should matter, when the pianist sits before the majestic instrument.

 

Yet, for Kaneki, that’s the hardest part.

 

He drops the pencil on top of the pages of music notes lying on the grand piano and sighs, lowering his head onto his folded arms. A jumble of notes resound from the percussion; his ears twitch.

 

Everything matters.

 

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

 

Time doesn’t pause. It moves, endlessly. Seconds to minutes to an hour, and he wishes he hadn’t drunk three cups full of black coffee.

 

How will he look, tomorrow? Like a zombie risen from the dead, with bags under his eyes and red sockets threatening to pop. How can he play this song without the proper energy and life from a good night’s sleep? What is  _wrong_  with him?

 

How can he afford to stress and fret like this just before the wedding?

 

He drags himself up and out of the leather seat, looking down wearily at the notes he’d composed and erased over the past month. The constantly revised song he had nothing but doubts and frustration – and that other suffocating feeling – for.

 

The silhouette of his suit hanging in front of the closet draws his attention. Pressed, ironed, and tailored to perfection.

 

“It’s tomorrow…huh.”

 

He lifts the cover over his head.  _Already?_

 

Ah…

 

Already, huh.

-

 

The winding, cobble stoned garden is surrounded by overhanging green leaves and vibrant flowers. Small ponds and koi darting about playfully decorate the venue. Across the curved stone bridge, and a flowing river stream underneath, lies the cherry blossom garden. Pink petals awaken from the caress of a soft breeze – touch of spring, and cascade like moving pictures onto the warm dewy grass.

 

Kaneki finds himself in a crowd of people, some being old classmates, mutual friends, and others, complete strangers. Or maybe he’s simply forgotten them. It’s hard to say when he’s getting bombarded left and right like some A-list celebrity at a bachelorette party.

 

“Big day, huh?”

 

“Ye - yeah.” He nods, smiles a bit. A man in his twenties, dressed in a uniformed black tux like the rest of the guys. White hair and a serious face, with broad shoulders and a built body. He pushes his bangs back, glancing at Kaneki briefly, as if bringing up old memories. Kaneki struggles to recollect, mind whirling as he tries to differentiate one guest from the hundred gathered. Ah!  _The drummer from the school band back in high school_. “Yomo-san,” he remembers, but soon he’s getting whisked away to another circle of people.

 

“Oi, oi, dude’s getting married,” Nishiki Nishio says, inherent resting sneer in place. His girlfriend, Kimi, pinches his elbow.

 

She pats him absentmindedly, smiling at Kaneki. “We’re both super happy! We spent a long time looking for the perfect gift, you know,” she beams. The auburn-haired man rubs the injury with a very unhappy scowl.

 

“ _Oi, Kimi_.”

 

“Oops!” she gasps, turning to her lover. “Sorry, Nishi, did it hurt?”

 

“ _Of course_  it did. But after all the abuse, I think I’m damn used to it.”

 

“Oh  _really?_ ” Kimi has a hand on her hip, and that’s never a good sign. “Seriously, you’re gonna start playing the victim here? I mean,  _really_ , just last night I found  _three random girls texting you_ , and  _you_  think I don’t have the right to…”

 

Oh no. They’re at it again. Kaneki backs out of there quickly, and it’s a good thing a new wave arrives. He goes over to greet them and lead them across the bridge to the garden venue.

 

It’s a whirlwind of people, with congratulations everywhere and delighted murmurs promising to look forward to the pianist’s performance. Kaneki is on foot, helping the last minute decorators do their jobs, the invitees find their seatings, and doing other miscellaneous things as the clock steadily counts down.

 

A pretty little cherry blossom garden like this, scenery at its finest, and joy to be sealed - love is certainly in the air.

 

A tug on his arm brings him around, and he pales as he’s suddenly facing the last person he’d expect to see at this event.

 

Long violet strands fall onto his shoulder as the ill-fated woman leans in, pressing her chest against him. Pink lips curve playfully as humor finds its way into her eyes. She brushes her mouth over his ear and says, “Congratulations, Kaneki-kun. Or, should I say,  _Mr. Nagachika?_ ”

 

Kaneki hastily unhooks her clinging arms from his and steps back to create space between them. Heat stains his cheeks brightly, and he can feel the steam come off in wispy fumes.  _M-mister Nagachika?_

 

The petite woman laughs, voice like wind chimes and pretty face almost glowing under the sunlight. She had always been beautiful, like elegant violets, and deceiving from the start, and he’s a fool if he falls for it twice.

 

“Rize-san,” he begins, admonishment lacing the tone of his voice. “ _Please_  stop teasing me. I know you received the invitation.”  _And you read it_ , he adds internally. With defiance, and a hint of that coiling emotion in his gut.

 

“Well then.” Her slender fingers brush along his jawline, caressing him just like the touch of a barely felt wind, and she passes by, velvet dress fluttering. “I look forward to the performance, my piano man.” She giggles away, vanishing into the mingle of guests around the dining table.

 

Kaneki blushes, the back of his palm feeling the linger of her soft touch. He didn’t expect to see her after all these years. It was nostalgic. But, he can’t muster the dread of being in her presence anymore. Naturally. It’s been a while since then. He’s no longer the naive teenager he was back in high school. No longer a lovestruck boy crushing on a girl beyond his reach. His senior, a sophisticated beauty, and president of the Contemporary Literature Club, Kamishiro Rize.

 

She...hasn’t changed at all, huh. Compared to her, has he changed? Or has he remained a static character, drifting in an unchanged pattern through the years?

 

A sudden weight around his shoulders surprises him. The force drags him behind a towering cherry blossom tree, layers and layers of pink petals covering the many branches, hanging above ground, before he can object. “Who - “

 

“Hey hey, how do I look, ‘neki?”

 

A blinding grin, white teeth glinting mouth to mouth, and bright, sunlit eyes.

 

“H-Hide! You scared the crap out of me!” Kaneki splutters.

 

“Sorry man, I’m not supposed to be out here, but y’know,” Hide chuckles. He scratches the back of his head. “To be honest, I’m a little nervous.”

 

Warm laughter fill the garden. Sun rays filtering through the cherry blossom tree and onto Hide, speckles of light dancing in his irises.

 

Kaneki’s heart skips a beat. Automatic.

 

He looks at his best friend, attired unusually formally in a custom fitted tux, with a black bowtie pressed to his collar and white collared shirt underneath, contoured by the V of the silk vest and dark velvet jacket. The jacket has two buttons that hold the tuxedo together, but Hide leaves them unbuttoned, open and casual like his personality.

 

Satin, midnight pants adorn his legs, leading down to polished and pointed dress shoes. His blonde hair is parted from the right and slicked back with gel, but rebellious as they are, the gold strands defy gravity, sticking up and about as they please.

 

In a way, the mix of formality and messy windswept locks only add to the attraction.

 

“So...how do I look?” Hide repeats, flashing a grin, the cheesiness of the action replacing the nervousness from earlier. He does a 360, one hand in his pocket and the other by his side as he swivels his foot.

 

Kaneki watches the display with a smile. Just Hide being Hide, wedding or not. He notices a little something amiss: the crooked position of the bowtie on Hide’s collar. “Dashing,” he replies. “But with a minor flaw.”

 

Hide looks down at himself, brow raised. “What’s wrong? I spent an hour making sure, too,” he mutters.

 

Kaneki steps in closer, reaching around Hide’s neck to undo the collar. “I’m talking about your tie. It’s a little crooked.”

 

“Oh.” Hide breathes, and Kaneki can feel the puff of air against his forehead.

 

His skin heats up, but it’s a good thing Hide’s taller now, so he can’t see. It’ll be weird to have to explain why he’s blushing when there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Because really, there’s nothing to be flustered over.

 

Kaneki unties the knot before looping it back around Hide. He starts to fix the tie, deft fingers quick and smooth, motions liquid from years of practice. It’s just like tying shoelaces, but bigger and more complex. Though, doing it for someone else is admittedly a little different. Hide stays absolutely still - and unusually quiet, as he works. He can feel his observing gaze, focus intense and unwavering, the steady up and down of his chest, and the attention is kind of…

 

“Done,” Kaneki announces with a finishing tug, the bowtie perfected. He steps back, letting out a small breath.

 

“That was fast,” Hide remarks, blinking. A grin spreads over his face. “As expected of a professional, and mind you,  _the best_ , pianist.”

 

Kaneki can’t help smiling. As if. But it’s nice to dream. “Someday, when I have my own concert and an invitation to perform in Paris, maybe then you can call me that. But, today’s not that day.”

 

“Right. You’ll always be the best in my eyes, and that’s what counts.”

 

“...Don’t you ever feel embarrassed when you say those things?” Kaneki says, blushing. Well,  _he’s_  certainly a victim of it. It makes him feel kind of ridiculous, honestly.

 

“Nah, it’s only the truth, right?” Hide replies, completely unabashed as usual. His mouth widens into a smile and arms go behind his head. Cherry blossom petals fall slowly, some landing on his hair. “You should take pride in what you have, y’know.”

 

Kaneki looks away. “We should go back. The wedding’s starting soon, and we can’t be late.” He turns to go, but an abrupt grip on his wrist stops him.  _Huh?_ He looks back at Hide, tipping his head in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

 

Hide’s grasp is loose but firm. There’s a tension in his usually carefree expression. He looks as if he has something to say. “You ready?” he asks.

 

“I’m - “ Kaneki swallows the strange lump and clears his throat, glancing at the grip. Hide’s hands have become bigger, big enough to wrap completely around his wrist. It’s a little strange, despite being around Hide all the time, he hasn’t noticed the change until now. They’ve grown up. This just means that they’re ready to take the next plunge into adulthood, doesn’t it? Kaneki arranges his face to a smile. “Yeah. I’m ready. You?”

 

Hide squeezes his wrist once before letting go, raising his head and grinning. He’s glowing. “I was born ready.”

-

 

Kaneki sits down on the stool, leaning forward slightly and resting his hands on the ivory keys. The grand piano is to the left of the archway, at the end of garden, facing the hundred guests gathered. He inhales, slowly, in and out, relaxes the way he’s been taught for fifteen years.

 

Then, he presses down gently with his right hand.  _The Wedding March_ , the rendition that he arranged for this special occasion.

 

And, soon, the  _ooh’_ s and  _aah’_ s of the crowd, parted into two columns, signal the arrival of the engaged. Kaneki looks up, having memorized and practiced the song enough that he can play without watching.

 

The lovely bride in a white wedding dress, the satin fabric dragging over the warm grass, and a bouquet of hydrangeas in her hands - smiling. The handsome groom by her side, in a black tuxedo, a rose pinned to his chest - grinning. Their arms are linked, and they duck their heads together as the flower girls and boys hail them with colorful blossoms, intertwined all the way until they make it to the archway.

 

There are tears in the audience, soft sniffles from the soon to be in-laws, and the tender sounds of the grand piano playing. Cherry blossom petals flutter and dance in the spring breeze.

 

Then, the two reach the archway. They face each other, ready to receive the marriage vows. The groom - that is,  _Hide_ , lifts up the wedding veil of his betrothed and smiles down at her.

 

And, if there is such a thing as a betrayal of oneself, then the rate in which Kaneki’s heart plummets all the way down the pits of his stomach is just that.

 

A simple betrayal.

 

He thought he’d -

 

Gotten over it?

 

“I love you, Yoriko.” His voice is tender. He treats her preciously.

 

“I love you too, Hide,” she says sweetly. A blushing bride.

 

They’re perfectly in love. They lean in for a kiss; the guests clap.

 

Kaneki shuts his eyes.

 

Ah... _i-it’s painful_.

 

“Now, a few words from our groom’s Best Man and brilliant pianist.”

 

 _It hurts._ Like a punctured wound, it stings and bleeds, the selfish pain digging into him relentlessly. It’s all over.  _I’m not supposed to feel like this._  Not at his best friend’s wedding. Not when Hide’s smiling so  _brightly_.

 

The Best Man’s part should be simple and easy; Kaneki finds it one of the bravest things he’s ever had to do.

 

To smile as if nothing’s wrong as he sells a lie to his best friend.

 

“Congratulations, Hide. I’m happy for you.”

 


	2. Up

 

**[ From You to Me ]**

C h a p - II -

_“It is a happiness to wonder; -- it is a happiness to dream.”_

\--Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

 

 

The garden is beautiful as always.

Kaneki looks out from the open sliding door. He sits on his knees, back straight and shoulders back, and picks up a lovely clay teapot off the tatami floor. He pours the green tea into a black teacup. The water mists and fogs into the air, like a breath of relief from the confine of clay. He sets the cup down and pushes it gently forward to the other occupant in the living room.

“Father.”

A hum of approval, and the man seated opposite picks it up.

“Instead of the usual _sencha_ , I thought it would be a pleasant change to have ceylon green tea imported from Sri Lanka,” Kaneki says, pouring a cup for himself. The gentle breeze from the outdoors drifts into the room, teases the fabric of his robe, and mingles with the warmth of the brewing cup against his lips.

Peaceful.

A chaste smile envelopes his soft features. “Ceylon green tea has strong antiviral and antibacterial qualities. Its fragrance is stronger than sencha, and the taste, too, is exquisite. The presence of antioxidants increases neural activity and enhances memory, allowing for greater concentration. It also has thermogenic properties, which stimulate oxidation and boosts metabolism.”

The man takes a sip, nodding at the aftertaste. “The vegetal aroma and slight bitterness is refreshing.”

“Yes, father,” Kaneki agrees. “That is largely due to antioxidants preventing wrinkles and aging of the skin.”

A moment of quiet lapses as the noises around them continue on, unperturbed. The snapping of the bamboo fountain in the backyard, the trickling of water that descends into a stone pond, the small rippling of waves following the trails of red and white koi - splotches of paintbrushes hiding in the depths.

Kaneki rests his hands on his lap. In this household, men dress in yukata while the women adorn simple versions of kimono. Tradition defines and conformity commands; one who does not obey is reprimanded and punished until they learn it from the welts in their flesh. In a highly respected household like this, with a stake in the Japanese government and power from old money, these rules and strict regulations do not tolerate change.

The man earns the living, the women cook, clean, and take care of the children, and the children study hard to be the top student. Sometimes the pressure to succeed is too much, and they break. But for Kaneki, who’s always been a bookworm of some sort, he doesn’t mind. Books are a part of him, after all.

“Hide has married?”

Kaneki nods. His fingers press into his lap, kneading. “Yes, father.” He’s been dreading this. “The ceremony was held last week.” Flashes of the event in his mind, the pink petals and thrown bouquet, white suit and happy smiles all around. “Hide and Yoriko-chan looked incredibly happy.” He smiles down at the blue texture of the yukata. “I’m glad. Hide deserves someone like Yoriko-chan. They’re like a pair of vibrant flowers, a match of sunflowers and daisies coming alive. They were glowing.”

His father chuckles, the wrinkles of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Hide has always been a bright child. When you two are together, it is like the clash of yin and yang itself. The sun and moon, each illuminating in different ways while coexisting in harmony. I thought for sure - ‘ah, this child will drag my Ken into plentiful of merry trouble.’ But, as Socrates once said, ‘The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.’ I knew nothing but the judgment I placed on Hide, which I have regretted until now. Strange, is it not? The child who I patronized would be the same young man dropping by every two weeks with a delivery of homemade ricecake.”

A soft smile spreads over Kaneki’s face. How nostalgic. “Hide...he’s always put me as his priority, taken care of me even though we’re already adults, and stayed by my side for so long, despite the problems I bring. I think…” his voice trails. It’s hard to admit, sometimes, the truth. Because more often than not, it hurts. “I think it’s time that someone takes care of him in return.”

Because he’s not the right person. Not at all.

Seventeen years.

That’s how long he’s known Hide. Before he’s noticed, it’s surpassed both his left and right hands. He used to keep count of the changing years as they pass, and with each new year, he’d smile as a closed finger lifted to join their standing kins. _“There we go. We’re still friends.”_ Add a small, contented smile.

At some point, he’d stopped counting. Maybe it was getting a little tiresome. Maybe he grew up. Or maybe he started to take their friendship for granted.

“You have not visited the household as of late, Ken.” His father looks at him inquiringly. The tea, temperature dulled to a lukewarm state, is set to the side. “As the future head of the house, I expect you have been preparing for the inheritance.”

“Yes, father.” Kaneki bows his head. His knees are starting to feel the effects of being locked into a position, aching. “I apologize. Please excuse my rudeness.”

His father nods, pushing something forward. A picture frame. “What do you think?” he asks.

Kaneki looks down at the photo. The woman in the frame is no doubt -

“Beautiful.” It slips his mouth. He blushes, and his father chuckles. “She is very beautiful.” But cold. Her expression is penetrating and aloof, and the small smile on her face forced and unnatural, an obvious guise for the picture. A no-nonsense kind of expression. Probably a couple of years older than him.

“Would you like to meet her?”

It’s a _miai_ after all. A tradition in which unattached individuals age ranges twenty up to thirty are introduced to each other with the hope of getting married.

“I - “

_No_. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say it. He has never disobeyed his parents. When was the last time he said “no” to them? He tries to do everything he can to not bring shame. Be the number one student, get the highest grades, play classical instruments, excel, read high level English literature - Kafka and Nietzsche preferred - while his classmates were still learning the vowels. It’s always “yes, father” and “I will do my best, mother.” Children don’t disobey their parents in this household. They do what is right, not what is desired, for the sake of the family name.

_“But where’s your self worth, man? If you keep letting others decide your future, you won’t be able to chase your dreams. What do ya wanna do, Kaneki? If you had a choice, I mean. If you didn’t have to lie about it.”_

_“I - I would…”_

“Ken,” the gentle but firm voice brings him back to the present. “This woman is the daughter of the chairman of Mado Corp. You understand, do you not? The importance of this decision.”

He knows it. Of course he knows. The heiress of Japan’s multimillion bank, which even the government owes money. Mado Akira. There’s no way he can turn her down. Just what will happen to their family name if he does?

_“Just think about it, Kaneki. Think hard. If you’re truly happy and willing to give up your dreams for your family, then why do you look so sad?”_

_“Hide, I - “_

“If you have no objections, Ken, I will take it as a sign of acceptance. You will make the family proud.”

_“All I want to do is...play the piano and read books.”_

It’s bubbling up his throat; he’s so close to blurting the truth, can see in his mind the shock on his father’s face, can hear the disappointment in his voice, can feel the stifling tension in the air. His clammy hands, covered in cold sweat. He doesn’t ever want it, it’s too painful - being a disappointment to his father.

_“I don’t need a lot. If I earn enough to pursue my hobbies, then that’s all I ask for. But once I take over the household, I’ll have to give it up. I won’t have time to perform anymore. Instead, I - I’ll have to…”_

Live in immorality.

There’s a stinging sensation in his back, a tingling burning under his flesh all the way up his spine to his shoulder blades. His skin is alight; it remembers the way the needle pierced into him, over and over as it colored in its design, remembers the way the candlelight flickered and danced as he held in his utters of pain.

_“Then tell them. Directly, because no one can do it but you. You should be selfish for once, ‘neki.”_

“Now that that is settled, I will schedule a time with Mr. Mado for the two of you younglings to meet.” His father smiles. A pleased smile. There is no defiance in his household. “It seems as if just yesterday you were born, yet here you sit before me, the family soon to welcome a new leader. If Miss Akira looks upon you with favor, then your future will be twice as promising. I am proud of you, my son.”

The praise washes over him, but all he feels is dread.

_But Hide - I’m not as confident, or brave, as you. I think that I...I’ve been prepared for a long time. We’re no longer children, are we?_

“Yes, father.”

-

“ _Fortissimo!_ Smooth like the endless river of the flowing Nile, the piano’s every dismal note resounds _ah! So! Beautiful!_ Its somber, reflective melody cascade down into the waterfalls of the passionate Niagara and reaches the dark chasm of my mind - and pulls! A tremolo in my heart, a sorrowful crescendo! _Très bien_! Ah, truly _magnifique_ you are.”

The extravagantly, shameless man pauses there, long fingers pressed to his model-like face, and inhales deeply. There’s a less than normal glint to his eyes and a delirious curve to his lips. “ _Calmato, calmato_ …”

At this rate, Kaneki is one hundred point two percent positive that he’s caught in the right place at a wrong time with a crazy fashionista and a table of judges who are most likely not going to intervene, and that he probably won’t make it out alive.

“You are simply - “ the man spins, twirling around gracefully with a red rose (where did it come from?) attached to his lips - “ _fantastique! Génial!_ Talent itself runs in your nimble fingertips; a one in a light year’s talent! _Monsieur_ , what is your name?” He comes close, putting a hand on Kaneki’s shoulder.

“K-Kaneki Ken...sir,” he answers rigidly, glancing at the hand and then back at the inane director. The intrusive hand pats him softly, almost _feeling_ him? _Oh my god_. Goosebumps.

“Kaneki-kun, is it? Lovely. _Oui,_ what a splendid name it is. Innocent and quaint, like a youthful Beethoven in his prime, playing the masquerade away until his demise. I can taste your potential, Kaneki-kun.” The man leans in, and expensive cologne wafts over him. Kaneki sucks in his cheek to hold back a sneeze. “And I will most definitely eat you.” He smiles, pulling away and snapping his fingers at the panel. “Judges?”

“We approve, Mr. Tsukiyama.”

“Yes, of course. He played Chopin’s nocturne most beautifully.”

Kaneki looks left and right, but there’s not a spark of acknowledgement at the completely illogical and not to mention absolutely illegal statement. _D-don’t tell me...it’s normal?! Anyone?_

The fashionista twirls back around and drops his waist into a bow. “Welcome to the Tokyo _Sous-Marin_ Symphony Orchestra, Kaneki-kun.”

-

Today 6:15

_ “I did it, Hide.” _

He doesn’t know if he should wait for a response (would Hide be awake to see it?), but the sun is on its way to rise, and he can feel the peek of the breaking light fall on his eyelids. Warm. And he wishes to see it, the sunrise. He feels cozy, wrapped up in the blankets, staring listlessly out the shuttered window.

It’s early.

Lately, he hasn’t been sleeping in the way he used to.

_“Congratulations, Kaneki-kun. Or, should I say, Mr. Nagachika?”_

Logic tells him to ignore the taunt -- emotions turn him into a ball of comforter and pajamas curled into the safety of his bed.

“That’s a little cruel...even for you, Rize-san,” he murmurs into the abyss, blanket pulled over his head as he presses into the mattress.

He imagines her tinkling laughter, like bells, as she fades into the darkness.

_Bzz._

Sometimes, he wishes the darkness can take him, too. Swallow him up and make him company. Leave behind this world of responsibilities and twisted feelings, and vanish into the infinite plane of nothingness.

If the world begins without meaning or purpose, then existence itself is senseless. That is the essence of Friedrich Nietzsche’s existential nihilism. What is the meaning of life? Is it to find happiness? Or is it the product of nature’s desire for survival and death? To be born just to die in vain, to fulfill the prophecy of passionless survival in the name of Darwinism, then, truly, this -

_Bzz. Bzz._

The vibrations of the cellphone disrupts the train of pessimistic thoughts. Mornings tend to find him wallowing in the depths of morbid philosophy, and he’s glad to be shaken off it.

Kaneki picks up the buzzing mobile.

**Hide**

6:18

_ “Stay there for a sec brt!!!” _

‘Brt...’ _be right there?_

Huh. Kaneki cocks his head, tired eyes emotionless, and the blue screen reflects in the dark of his irises.

Another buzz, and a new message:

**Hide**

6:22

_ “Open your blinds and look out the window.” _

Kaneki gets out of bed and heads over to the window, pushing up the blinds and the pane, meeting the open air of the morning. He winces; it’s brighter than he thought.

“Hide?” he mumbles, looking down the seventh floor of the apartment complex to see the blonde waving up at him. He’s carrying something in his arms. It’s hard to see far without his contacts.

Hide’s hands are around his mouth as he shouts, “Mornin’! Close your eyes for a sec, and open them when I tell you to! Ready?!”

Kaneki doesn’t bother to protest - history’s taught him that nothing will stop Hide from being obnoxiously cheery in the morning. He closes his eyes, waiting, a smile resting on his lips.

A loud “Now’s the time!” from below has him blinking up at the blue sky, sun coming out from behind the clouds, and seeing a giant bundle of balloons flying up past his window. He instinctively reaches out and manages to catch the fleeting tail of one, but it slips through his fingers, joining the rest of its colorful kins in their deserving skies.

They’re not meant to be captive.

_Bzz._

**Hide**

6:24

_ “Grats man! I knew you could do it :D” _

_If you keep letting others decide your future, you won’t be able to chase your dreams._

There’s something wrong with him, isn’t there? His eyes feel like they’re burning, and his nose stuffed, and those are tears, definitely tears, threatening to leak. Those balloons - they’re just like the ones that Hide was always drawing, back when they were kids.

They remind him of their childhood.

“Hide!” He leans out the open window, and the latter dips backward, looking up at him with a silly grin, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah?!”

Kaneki smiles. If they were just like those balloons, with the freedom to traverse the skies as they wish. With all the time in the world, then maybe, just maybe, he and Hide would…

6:27

_ “I’m getting married, too.” _

**Author's Note:**

>  **[Hop over to Hide's pov.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3255395/chapters/7096763/)** ❤


End file.
